Wisteria
by twin-v
Summary: Draco noticed absently that his wife looked almost lost in a bed so big. He pushed a few locks of her brown hair away from her forehead and frowned. Two days ago she had been burning with fever, now she was cold… almost as cold as death. He hated it.
1. Default Chapter

Author's notes: Dedicated to Crystalline Temptress, for her birthday! Hehe, she asked us to write a story including Draco and Hermione kissing under a trellis of wisteria. We already know she loves it, so we hope all of you do too!

Disclaimer: All things related to Harry Potter belong to J.K. Rowling. Ralph, however, was invented by the shippers aboard the S.S. Leather and Libraries.

Draco sat beside the bed, noticing absently that his wife looked almost lost in a bed so big. He pushed a few locks of her brown hair away from her forehead and frowned. Two days ago she had been burning with fever, now she was cold… almost as cold as death. He hated it. He hated that she was dying.

It was almost impossible to accept her situation. To him, she had always been strong, indestructible. Now she was weak and frail, barely able to stay awake for more than a few minutes at a time. How much longer could she last? The Healer had said that her sickness resulted in a slow death, and that she would probably remain in that state for a week or more. Draco didn't know if he liked that or not.

There was a knock on the door, and Draco turned to see his only son stick his head in. "Father," Ralph said, "you should get some rest. I'll watch over Mother."

Draco shook his head. "I won't be able to sleep anyway. And besides, I slept yesterday. I'll call you when I want to sleep again."

Ralph looked like he was about to argue, but he just nodded and left.

Sighing, Draco rubbed his tired eyes. His body was tired, but his mind was not. He wished he could just crawl into bed beside Hermione, fall asleep, and wake up to find her better. But he hadn't slept in their bed for days, for several reasons. A few days ago the main reason had been because her fever was so high that it was uncomfortable to be beside her for long. Then when her temperature dropped suddenly, it had been because she was so weak that Draco couldn't bring himself to disturb her even by sleeping next to her. Now, it was because he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep no matter what he tried.

Draco stood and headed to the window. It was dark outside, and the snow was falling. Through the darkness he could barely make out the trees in the garden, and he couldn't even see the gate at the front of their property.

As he looked upon the grounds, he wondered how they would fare without Hermione. She loved the gardens, and she always took care of them. Hiring a few extra house elves seemed to Draco like an insult to Hermione's memory. But he didn't have the interest or the ability to maintain the grounds. Well, he would deal with that after… after she was gone.

A certain section of the garden caught his attention, and he strained his eyes to see the trellis, which, due to the season, wasn't covered with the wisteria that usually decorated it. He gazed at it from the room, and in his mind, he saw the garden in full bloom, the sky without a cloud in sight, the trellis that was covered with wisteria hanging right above their heads, and the people standing behind himself and Hermione.

"I do," he heard Hermione say, softly but firmly. And Draco remembered turning to her, grinning at her, holding her, kissing her…

"Wait," the priest had interrupted. "I pronounce you man and wife. _Now_ you may kiss the bride."

Giggling, Hermione had wrapped her arms around him. "It's all right," she whispered to her very red husband. "It's all right." And she kissed his lips gently, until all of his embarrassment was gone.

Draco sighed and turned away from the window, returning to his wife's bedside. He took her hand, trying to warm it with his own. "Hermione," he whispered to her, bending over her, "what will we do without you?"

Hesitantly, he kissed her cheek, then her lips. Her cheek, which used to be so rosy, was now so pale, and her lips, once so soft, were now chapped and dry. Her eyes fluttered open, and even they had lost their sparkle. But not their love… Draco could see her feelings for him burning just as brightly as on the day they married.

"Draco," she whispered, her featherlike grasp on his hand tightening just slightly, "it will be all right. It will be all right."


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Draco and Hermione belong to J.K. Rowling. The other characters were invented by the two of us and the Leather Librarians.

Authors' notes: Thanks to all who reviewed the first chapter.

It was a fine spring day. Raphael Malfoy II was walking through the grounds of the manor with his mother, who was teaching him the names of the different flowers that were planted in strategic locations throughout the garden.

"Mummy, what's that purple flower?" Raphael asked, pointing to the purple blossoms that grew on the trellis.

"That plant is called wisteria," his mother replied.

"It's beautiful," Raphael said appreciatively.

"Yes, it is, but the seeds are poisonous. Don't eat them. But yes, wisteria has pretty flowers," his mother agreed. "However, this particular plant is more beautiful than others. It has a story behind it. Would you like to hear it?"

Raphael nodded eagerly. He and his mother walked towards the trellis, and sat down on the bench under it.

"It's a story about a powerful wizard. His name was Draco. He loved his wife very much- her name was Hermione. And they even had a son, your grandfather."

"Grandpa Ralph?"

"That's right."

Raphael sat up straighter, more interested in the story because it involved his favorite grandfather, the man he was named after. "What happened?"

"Wisteria was Hermione's favorite plant. But she got very sick, and died when Grandpa Ralph was only a few years older than you are now. It broke Draco's heart."

"So what did he do?"

o o o o

_It will be all right. _

_That's what she had said. Easy for her to say, Draco reflected, because she wasn't the one left behind. _

_Draco sighed and stared at the plant above his head. He was sitting on the bench under the trellis, the very same trellis under which they had gotten married. He was watching the buds of wisteria that grew on the structure as they danced in the wind. They were Hermione's favorite flower, and had she lived a few months longer, she would have been able to watch them bloom. But it wasn't to be. What had started as a sore throat became a high fever, but it was when Hermione's temperature suddenly dropped to some point below normal that Draco started to worry. He started to lose hope. But based on his talks with his wife, it seemed that she hadn't given up yet. _

_He would always remember one of the conversations he had had with her on the rare days that she was awake and alert. _

"_What do you think of all day?" he had asked._

_Hermione had hesitated before answering. "I think of how I don't want to die. I wish I wasn't sick. Why me? Out of all the people in the world, why me? What have I done? _

_But then I think- maybe, maybe it's better that I'm sick, rather than some single mother who needs to work everyday to feed her child. At least you and I can afford not to work for months. And at least, with this kind of illness, I can say goodbye."_

"_And yet it were a greater grief," Draco had quoted softly, " to watch it withering, leaf by leaf, than see it plucked today; since earthly eye but ill can bear to trace the change to foul from fair."_

_Hermione then turned to look at the single flower of wisteria that her Ralph had picked for her the previous year. She had tried to put a charm on it to preserve it, but real flowers aren't meant to be fresh forever. It was starting to wilt._

"_That was Lord Byron, wasn't it? I've been thinking of it too. And I'm sorry if it hurts you to see me deteriorate like this."_

"_It's not your fault."_

"_I really don't want to die."_

"_Then don't."_

"_I'm trying not to."_

"_Really? Try harder then."_

"_You get sick and see how hard it is."_

"_Why? Then we'll both be deteriorating. Do use your brain, love. You're supposed to be smart."_

"_Go to hell, Draco."_

_And Draco had laughed until his laughs turned to tears. He leaned forward and kissed Hermione gently. "Who will I fight with when you're gone?"_

"_Don't worry," Hermione had replied with determination, "I'm not gone yet."_

_But a week later, the pain had come. And it had tortured Hermione so much that Draco was torn between wanting her to stay and wanting her suffering to end. But she had died anyway, whether he had wanted it or not._

_It was getting dark, Draco realized, dabbing at his eyes. Ralph would be looking for him. Sighing heavily, Draco stood up and walked forward a few feet, stopping right in front of a mound of earth. The stone at the head of the grave said Hermione's name, but Draco didn't need a marker to tell him where the one thing he loved most lay. She had been buried near her precious flowers, right where she had wanted to be placed. _

_As Draco turned away, an idea struck him. He pulled out his wand and pointed it at the wisteria. He muttered a spell, and a violet burst of light shot out from the tip of his wand. The plant glowed for a few seconds, and when the light faded, the flowers were more beautiful than before._

"_An Everlasting spell," Draco said out loud, his eyes on the grave near him. "The flowers will fall in winter, but they'll bloom every spring. The plant itself will never die. You'll get to see it bloom every year."_

_He took a few steps back towards the house before hesitating. Turning around, he called back to the grave, "oh, and you were wrong, by the way. It's not all right. It never will be."_

o o o o

Raphael stared at his mother, his eyes wide. "Did he tell you that himself, Mummy?"

"No, he never told anyone. It was Grandpa Ralph who told me, he had been crying behind the bushes when Draco had come. Grandpa Ralph said he was afraid to let his father know that he was there, so he didn't say anything."

"Did you ever meet Draco?"

"Yes, but he died a few months before I married your father."

Raphael turned to look solemnly at the graves that lay a few yards from where he and his mother sat. "He's buried there, isn't he?"

"Yes, dear. They're together again."

"They're both happy now, right?"

"Right."

"So it's all right, isn't it, Mummy? It's finally all right."

"Yes, it is. It finally is."


End file.
